


When You Wake Me Up

by dametokillfor



Series: The Declassified Romance of Agents Hart and Trevelyan [1]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Falling In Love, Fluff, M/M, Requited Love, Romance, one side of a love story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-17 22:23:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3545921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dametokillfor/pseuds/dametokillfor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James' mind wanders early one morning, as Harry sleeps across the room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Wake Me Up

**Author's Note:**

> This is just pure unadulterated fluffy nonsense. It's written in the style of a wandering mind, so may seem a little all over the place.
> 
> James's surname was shamelessly stolen from Goldeneye. 
> 
> Title from Ed Sheeran.

He’s been awake for over an hour, gazing across at the sleeping man in the other bed across from him. The accomodation in the safe houses leaves a lot to be desired, but James wouldn’t change it for anything right now. He’d give up all the suites, all the well stocked mini-bars, all the haute cuisine in the world, just to be able to gaze at Harry like this every morning.

He’d been feeling the stirrings of something towards Harry ever since the older man had admitted his own feelings a year before. James had given him the traditional spiel, he cared about him, he was one of his closest friends, but he didn’t feel that way about him. It had felt like a load of bollocks, but Harry had smiled, had told him he’d expected as much and asked if they could at least still be friends. He’d sounded so lost, so unlike Harry, James had nearly taken it back there and then, just to stop him sounding so hurt.

Instead he’d smiled at him, kissed him on the head and ruffled his perfect hair, told him they’d always be friends. It was almost as uncharacteristic for him as Harry’s broken little voice had been, but it had worked. Harry had been back to himself in a few days, had been willing to spend time with James within a week, and James had decided he’d think nothing more of it.

He almost laughs thinking about it now. He is dying to get up from his bed, go across to Harry’s and give him a filthy wake up call. He wants to taste every inch of Harry’s skin, catalogue every scar with his lips, with his tongue. He wants to run his fingers over Harry’s body, watch as he whimpers and keens under him. He wants to kiss him, even more than he wants to fuck him, by God, _he wants to kiss him_.

(James had always felt kissing was something best saved for relationships. It was too intimate, too much for a dirty shag in an alley with a bit of rough, or the blonde in the bar who was tying a cherry stalk in a knot with her tongue. It had earned him the nickname ‘Pretty Woman’ at Oxford, and as much as the boys teased him, he wore the name as a badge of honour. He’d been in three relationships that had lasted over two years in his life, and probably kissed a total of seven women and he’d never felt any shame about it.)

It nearly threw him for a loop the first time he realised he wanted to kiss Harry. They’d been sat in a pub, just chatting away like two normal guys. Harry had been telling him a story about one of the recruits, and James had just been watching him talk. He’d been so animated, so happy, so perfect, James had been completely overwhelmed. He’d nearly leaned over the table there and then, slipped his hand into Harry’s perfect hair and kissed his gorgeous smile.

Instead he’d shaken the thought away, and offered Harry another pint.

The feeling hadn’t really gone away after that. He’d find himself staring at Harry’s mouth, unconciously licking his lips. He was sure Harry had noticed, how could he miss it? But he’d never said a word, had probably assumed James was a confused straight boy. (He was, but it was nothing Harry couldn’t fix if he’d just kiss him). James had found himself flirting, after his realisation, touching his friend more. He’d always been handsy, but now he was taking note of the feel of Harry’s arms, his strong shoulders, his firm chest. How had he never seen it before?

The first time he’d dreamed of Harry, of touching him, fucking and sucking and kissing him, it nearly drove him insane. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been so aroused in his entire adult life. He’d come with three fingers buried deep in his ass, his hand around his cock, crying out Harry’s name. (He’d licked the come from his fingers, imagining it was Harry’s, imagining Harry watching him approvingly). He’d never been so happy to be away from the comforts of home, the fear of someone overhearing him screaming out his best friends name nearly crippling him.

Now though, now he’d tell his own mother just how much he wants to own Harry, how much he wants to devour him, how now he’s admitted to himself that he’s attracted to him, he hasn’t wanked so much since he was a teenager. He’s never gone so long without switching the star of his fantasies, but the idea of being with anyone but Harry does nothing for him.

And now, gazing across at him as he sleeps, he’s pretty certain he’ll never want to wake up to any other sight so long as he lives. There’s a brief moment, where his brain tries to substitute Scarlett Johansson and Eva Green for Harry, but there’s nothing there. There’s no warmth, no swell of emotion, no stirring from his cock. But Harry…

"James, will you stop bloody staring at me?" Harry grumbles, and God, James is so gone for sleepy, grumpy Harry. Harry lifts the duvet, eyes still screwed shut, and shifts back on the small bed a little, "Get in. We can talk about this when the sun has risen."

James just stares at the space by Harry, the fact Harry is in naught but a pair of dark blue boxers, that he’s actually gesturing to James to get into bed with him.

"James."

James barely even realises he’s got up before he slides under the duvet with him. Harry’s arm wraps around his shoulders almost instantly, pulls them chest to chest. Their legs tangle together, as if they’ve been laying like this for years. (James curses himself for being the reason they haven’t.)

"Harry." He breathes against his neck, burying his face in the smell and the warmth of the man he’s pretty much realised over the past hour that he’s completely and utterly in love with. He’s never felt so calm and so afraid all at once. Love. He loves Harry. James Trevelyan is in love with Harry Hart and it’s so _right_.

"My Harry."

Harry presses a sleepy kiss to James’ neck. James can feel the smile.

"Don’t take the fact I haven’t ravished you for a lack of interest, darling."

And James chest clenches, his heart stops, how long has he been unconsciously waiting to hear that from Harry?

"I am not a morning person, not even for you." Harry says into his neck, his warm breath tickling James’ ear, "But when I’ve got a few more hours sleep, I promise you I will make you absolutely fall to pieces under me."

"You promise?" James repeats, nuzzling at Harry’s neck.

Harry draws back a little, opens his warm brown eyes and strokes a hand across James’ cheek. His eyes flick to James’ lips, before they fall closed again and Harry leans in to kiss him. James is taken aback for a second, before he kisses Harry back. It’s a gentle kiss, a soft kiss, a promise of more, ~~of forever~~. It’s the kind of kiss that reminds James just why he believes a kiss is more intimate than sex.

Harry whispers something against his lips, something James can’t quite make out, but is pretty certain he understands regardless. Harry shoots him one last look, drops a gentle kiss on his lips, and says, “I _promise._ ” 

(And a gentleman always keeps his promises.)

**Author's Note:**

> Is this too fluffy? I'm super worried about the characterisation this time.
> 
> Come join me on [Tumblr](http://damnstevens.tumblr.com), where we shall squee over all the things.


End file.
